


Domesticated

by fictive_frolic



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, meet cute
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:14:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22130053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictive_frolic/pseuds/fictive_frolic
Summary: Merlin is too flustered by the pretty girl in the coffee shop to talk to her. So, Eggsy lends a hand.
Relationships: Merlin (Kingsman)/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 72





	1. Chapter 1

“Robbin’ the cradle a bit aren’t you?” The teasing voice behind him makes Merlin half jump out of his skin in the coffee shop and he jumps.

“What are ye’ talkin’ about?” he sighs, kicking a chair out for the smirking blonde who takes it. But even Merlin couldn’t quite manage to hide the blush that crept across his cheeks.

Eggsy jerked his head in your direction and his lips twitched. You were sitting at a cafe table, minding your own business and reading a book. A latte steaming in front of you. “You been comin’ in here for weeks. Same time. Every day. Just talk to her.”

Merlin cleared his throat and adjusted his tie, “She’s not the only reason. I enjoy their coffee here.” To illustrate his point he took a sip of his coffee and tried not to wince when it was cold.

The younger man give him a meaningful look and glanced back at you, “She’s cute,” he said approvingly, teasing him. “Never thought you’d go for scrubs and messy hair though.” It was true. You looked like you’d been through the mill. Your hair was a mess and the scrubs you were wearing were a horrific color on you. But, as you sat reading the book you’d brought, you had the type of face where that didn’t matter. Girl next door sweetness. Pouty lips. Bedroom eyes. Real potential to be a bombshell. An air of quiet confidence. Without the need to prove yourself. Eggsy gave the waitress that brought his coffee his most charming smile. He had an idea. He had a terrible, awful idea. But… as he glanced back at his friend. The moment of unguarded softness on his face as he looked anxiously towards you as you stumbled slightly standing up, he thought it might be worth it.

You were just tired enough or distracted enough to make this work, he was sure of it. You looked wrecked. He scooted his chair back just slightly and picked up his cup. If he did this right he could force Merlin to talk to you. Might even get him laid before he lost his shit. All he had to do was line this up right. He took a deep breath and positioned himself in your way easily, careful to make sure you wouldn’t actually hurt yourself while knocking into himself and forcing him to spill his coffee down Merlin’s sleeve. Merlin hissed at the heat of the beverage and jumped backward, jumping to his feet while reaching out to steady you in the same moment, bracing you carefully and cradling you to him to keep you from hitting the ground.

“Oh. Shit. I’m so sorry!” you yelp, looking around for napkins to help him clean himself off.

“It’s alright,” Merlin soothed quickly, “My friend wasn’t paying attention.”

“Sorry, love,” Eggsy added, passing Merlin a handkerchief with a wink.

Merlin isn’t paying attention, he’s watching you. You look distressed, like you might actually cry. “Hamish,” he says introducing himself, holding out a hand “Are you alright?”

“Y/N,” you answer, taking the hand he offers, “I’m fine. It was just a long shift… I- if everything is okay I should probably head home. I gotta go back tonight.”

“You work nights?” Merlin asked confused, it was noon. Or almost noon.

You shake your head, “No. I just… night shift if running short so I’m picking up.”

Merlin nodded and smiled a little, “See you around?” you murmur, not waiting for a reply before slipping away quietly. The older man waits until you’ve left the shop before looking at his friend, “You ever do that again and they’ll never find your body.”

“Whatever you say, Merlin,” he said grinning. Worth it, Eggsy decided. Totally worth it. Besides. It wasn’t as if that was the first time Merlin had spilled coffee on himself, and at least now he knew your name. But, knowing Merlin he already knew everything about you. He’d taken your picture and searched every database on earth for the smallest bit of information. The thought made him chuckle as Merlin ushered him out of the shop.

_______

For a couple days, Merlin tries to stay away from the shop. Your heart had been pounding when he’d stood up and he didn’t want you to feel like he was lying in wait for you. But after three days, he couldn’t stay away anymore. He wants to see you. Even if it’s only to pine from a few tables away. Today, he notices you don’t have scrubs on. Your face is made up and you’re dressed for warmth and comfort. Stylish but not ostentatious. A grey and blue plaid skirt and a soft white sweater. A pair of high heeled Mary Janes and some white knee socks. Cute and cozy. Sweet. It makes his heart thud away in his chest and he’d dearly love to muss your lipstick and have that outfit crumpled on his floor.

The shop is crowded but you don’t seem to notice, wrapped up in your book. A bubble of serenity in the chaos. He wants to talk to you but he desperately doesn’t want to disturb you. He thinks about you like this a lot. About what it would be like on a rainy, sleepy Sunday. If you’d read out loud for him. He’d like that. A lot. He doesn’t want to disturb you but… now that he has his coffee there is no place to sit and enjoy it. Merlin swallowed hard and took a deep breath, making his way to you table “Excuse me,” he said quietly, “Would you mind if I sat with you?”

You look up, looking a little dreamy and sleepy. You smile a little and shake your head, “Not at all,” you say gesturing to a chair, “It’s the least I can do after I ruined your suit.”

Merlin smiles, “Nothing dry cleaning and some patience couldn’t fix,” he says waving it away gently. “What are you reading?” he asks, genuinely curious.

“Just… It’s just some YA trash,” you tell him, smiling a little, “Still, not the worst one I’ve ever read.”

Merlin cocks his head, “Why?” he asks, “If it’s trash.”

You grin, “I work with kids. It’s always good to have something to talk with them about while you’re trying to keep them from hitting someone with a chair.”

“Sounds dangerous,” Merlin said trying not to sound worried.

You shrug, “It’s been a while since anything’s been that drastic,” you tell him, “The mix of kids on my ward is a lot less volatile for the moment.” You knock on the table and snort.

Merlin smiles a little and resists the urge to reach for your hand. Your nails are pretty, neatly manicured with french tips on the ends of your elegant fingers.

“What about you?” you ask. Big, bright, empathetic eyes fix of him, reminding him irresistibly of gemstones.

“I work in a tailor shop,” he says. The stock answer. Technically not a lie, even if it isn’t the truth. The truth, of course, will come later.

“That explains the suit,” you say, eyes glittering with teasing.

Merlin smiles and gestures to himself modestly, “This old thing?”

That makes you giggle and Merlin preens internally. He’s still got it. A pretty girl is giggling at something he said and she hasn’t dismissed him as some creepy old cunt trying to chat her up. For a few moments, there’s companionable silence as you both sip coffee and watch the goings on around you. Merlin is casually assessing for threats and he can’t help but think you might be doing the same. You remind him a bit of a cat. More alert than you look. That pleases him in a way he can’t quite describe.

“Y/N?” he asks cautiously.

“Yes?”

He clears his throat, “I- would it be too forward if I asked for your number?”

“Why on earth would you want that?” you ask teasing, “It only took you two months of staring at me and a ruined suit to ask for it.”

Heat rushes up to Merlin’s face and you beam at him, reminding him irresistibly of a tabby cat. Adorable. You’re adorable and he’s too old to be doing this but… Christ. He can’t walk away now. He stammers for a moment and fumbles for his phone to put it into your waiting hand. You enter your number and stand slowly, making Merlin scramble to stand politely. It’s taken you aback just a little. But not, Merlin thinks, unpleasantly so. As you shrug into your coat and pick up your scarf.

“I have plans tonight, but I’m free tomorrow, barring any major catastrophe or act of God on my unit,” you tell him, “Just in case you’d like to do this a little less informally.”

You stand on your toes and kiss his cheeks, just a soft, sweet brush of your lips and nothing more. No implication of anything properly naughty, but it still feels like he’s touched a live wire. Merlin is speechless. Properly speechless. His brain can’t find words. There is no retort. No quip. No snark. All he can do is stare as you wink at him and flounce out of the shop. All he can do is stare until after you’ve left.

And then all he can think is one word.

One word he chuckles to himself as he shoves his phone into his pocket.

“Cheeky,” he chuckles to himself. He was going to enjoy this. He was going to enjoy this quite a lot.


	2. Chapter 2

Merlin tried not to listen to Eggsy telling Roxy about his part in getting Merlin to talk to you. He’d like to strangle the little shit. But then, that was nothing new. He had a talent for finding his last nerve and tap dancing on it. Then exploiting his soft spot for him about three seconds before Merlin really did throttle him. Sometimes, the older man wondered if that’s what it were like to be a parent.

If it was, he wasn’t sure he were up to the task. If it was, he felt like a creepy old man trying to date someone near Eggsy’s age. But, looking at the text you sent him. An innocuous little picture of you pouting at the camera with glitter on your lips, dressed for a night out with friends, he knew he couldn’t back out now. Even dressed for a night at a Drag show, you looked like exactly his shot of whiskey. Warmth spread through his belly and radiated out to the top of his head to the tips of his toes.

It had been a long time since anyone had made him feel that way. So long in fact that he thought himself immune. Happily, he though saving the picture so it would come up when you called, he wasn’t.

He put his phone back in his breast pocket and tried not to let his thoughts drift towards you, but unbidden he’d seen the first moment he saw you.

You’d blown into the coffee shop looking harried and frankly more than a little disheveled. Hair falling in your eyes, not a product of elegant disarray but a long day and total hairpin failure. Your clothes were rumpled and you looked... somehow... beautiful. Out of place in the coffee shop full of idle socialites and white-collar workers. But somehow, no one seemed to notice. Your manners were neat at least. Pretty soft words. Well-spoken. And only slightly Americanized. Some flavor of dual citizenship probably. You’d taken your coffee and found a small table, careful to be out of the way. Seeking some solace, he assumed. Some comfort after a long day. His assumption was proven correct when you started to cry. Not sobbing hysterically, but a few quiet tears sliding down your cheeks. Hastily wiped away as you took a deep breath and looked towards the ceiling for a second, willing yourself not to make a scene. He’d felt something twist in his chest unpleasantly. It had hurt in ways seeing a woman cry didn’t typically affect him. He was used to debutante sulks and snits. Not quiet pain that had momentarily become too much to bear. It affected him. He’d started coming back, wanting to see you again. Hoping this was your usual shop. He’d learned to track your days through your coffee order. Good days were just espresso. Dark and strong. A quick pick up. Long days were chai lattes with extra espresso. Bad days were indulgent fluff and a pastry... There had been a lot of bad days. Days that made him want to scoop you up and cradle you against his chest and make it better. Days that had made him want to find the source of the pain and make sure it couldn’t hurt you again. At least he would if it wasn’t your job doing it.

Eggsy had been correct when he had said that he bet Merlin already knew things about you. He’d been too jaded to immediately want to charge to your rescue. There were organizations that would quite literally kill to get hold of him and the things he knew. Not to mention what he could do. It hadn’t taken him long to find you. Name and all. Where you studied, what you did, and a set of sealed court documents that transferred custody of you to an older brother. After his cursory search, which was still invasive enough he felt guilty after, he’d not gone further. Most organizations, for all their cleverness, weren't this clever. There was a family tree he could trace several generations back on both sides, for God’s sake. You were real, he knew. But after that he just had to work up the guts to talk to you.

Several failed relationships lay in his past. Pretty women of proper parentage to appease his parents. Debutantes and Socialites. Heiresses. People with all the proper breeding. Women whose greatest ambition was to marry a rich man and be taken care of the way their parents had taken care of them. He’d sworn off any real relationship after he’d almost been married... That little misadventure had left him with scars that had made him drown himself in work just to numb the ache. He knew that the dating scene had probably changed a lot since his day. Women in this day and age were a lot more... aggressive than he was typically used too. Even the women his mother shoved at him were hardly polished. Though he supposed, at his age it was going to be tricky for her to find anyone to fling at him. Still. You were... different. Not terribly polished but there was an air of quiet confidence. Of knowing. He liked that.

“You ain’t going out with your girl?” Eggsy asked teasing.

Merlin rolled his eyes, “She had prior plans for this evening.”

“Aww,” Roxy grinned, “did you not want to go clubbing?”

“Indeed not,” Merlin snorted, “But her Snapchat has been entertaining.”

Roxy was practically bouncing on the balls of her feet, “You got Snapchat?”

The older man sighed, “I’ve had Snapchat. Someone has to monitor the shite you all get up to on social media.”

Eggsy paled just a little and Merlin smirked internally. He didn’t really monitor all that closely but Eggsy didn’t need to know that. Not right now.

____________

It wasn’t difficult to find the address you’d provided. It wasn’t a bad neighborhood but it wasn’t posh either. At least he didn’t have to worry about that. He’d hate to be scared to send you home at night, even if he was reasonably certain you could take care of yourself.

Still, as he stood waiting for you to buzz him in, he had a sense of unease. It felt... odd. Still. When the door released to let him in the feeling vanished. It evaporated like water on a hot pan and a feeling, not unlike nerves, rushed in in its wake. He felt both overdressed and underdressed. It was a bright Saturday afternoon and he wasn’t even sure what he was going to be doing. All he knew was that he was excited and mildly terrified to be doing it.

And then he couldn’t breathe. You were standing in the doorway of your flat, smiling up at him. “You found me,” you tell him, standing on your toes to kiss his cheek. Just another whisper of a kiss. “You gave me the right address,” he chuckles.

You step back and let him pass by you to get in and he takes a second to look around. “It’s not terribly grand, but then I’d hardly ever here for longer than it takes to sleep and change clothes,” you say, sounding more amused than offended at his assessment of the second-hand furniture and comfortable clutter of books and sundry nonsense.

Merlin smiles a little and takes the hanger you’re holding for his coat. He’d certainly seen worse, though his mother would be perfectly horrified at the mismatched, squashy chair and couch. “You’ve got an eye for antiques,” he observed, noting the typewriter on the desk. He’s willing to bet it’s from at least 1920. One designed for ace reporters and war office clerks. You smile a little, “My brother found it for me somewhere. An estate sale or something,” you answer, “A 16th birthday present.” There’s a note of something in your voice. A little fond and a little sad. But Merlin doesn’t press. He doesn’t like the hint of sadness. And he doesn’t want to keep delving into things that make it pop out. Not when there are other more tantalizing things to get out of you; like soft moans and cries of his name. 

You smile up at him and he desperately wants to kiss the end of your nose. You look a little sleep-deprived after a late night but still lovely. “So,” he says smiling back, savoring the warmth in his chest. “What’d you have in mind today, sweetheart?”

“Well. I’m sure you watched all the chaos from last night on snap chat,” you tell him stretching lazily, “So I thought I’d make you a nice dinner and we could just... relax a little bit. I don’t know about for you, but work was just a nightmare.”

“Ah, so you showed me how funny you are and now you’re trying to win my heart by filling my stomach,” he teases, laughing, “I’ll take it, even if my work week wasn’t... too terrible.”

“I might be showing off a little,” you admitted, “I have a handful of talents but I’m really good at them.”

“Oh?” Merlin asked quirking an eyebrow.

You nod and start carefully setting out the things you needed to make the meal you wanted to cook, “Do you want something to drink? I have tea, I have a couple bottles of wine, water, decent whiskey, might have a soda and some hot chocolate...”

Merlin could place your upbringing a little better then. You’d not had money. You wanted your guests comfortable but you weren’t terribly bothered about putting your ability to make them comfortable on display. Not to mention you were showing him affection with a home-cooked meal. Not that he minded. He’d done fancy dates. It was uncomfortable. He felt irresistibly like a specimen under glass on those dates, but this was nice. 

“Tea is fine, love,” he says, helping himself to a seat to watch you in the kitchen. 

You nod and start the kettle, humming to yourself. 

“So,” Merlin asked, “What do you do, exactly?”

“I’m a Program Director for a Children’s mental health facility,” you tell him, “I do... a lot of things.”

“Impressive,” he said whistling, “And what brought you there?”

“The grace of God, poor life choices,” you pause and consider the mug in your hand, “Incredibly bad luck, possibly. Take your pick.”

Merlin snorts, “Probably some combination of the three,” he says, taking the mug from your hand when you offer it. 

“Probably,” you agree, stretching. 

“What about you,” you ask, “how did you become a tailor?”

“Fell into the job really,” he said smiling, “I knew the right people.”

You nod, “Can you do me a favor?” you ask, cocking your head to the side. 

“What’s that, hen?” he asks, taking a sip of tea. 

“Please stop lying to me about your job,” you ask, “If you’re actually a Tailor I’m somehow in line for a monarchy.”

Merlin stops for a moment and leans forward to assess you, “What do you think I do?” he asks

You smile a little, “Something military. Or Military adjacent,” you tell him. Carefully. Careful not to pry too deep or press too hard. Giving him a little bit of wiggle room.

“And how, hen, did you come to that conclusion?”

“My brother’s a Marine,” you tell him, “I spent most of my life writing him letters out in the desert. At least until he got discharged and came home... After that he ran a bar. I know military types when I see them... and Tailors don’t typically wind up with the callouses you get from combat. Thick ones too.”

Merlin smiles a little, “And If I have to kill you for catching me out?”

“Neat,” you tell him, “No more student loans!”

That makes him grin, “I feel like that’s fair.”

You take a sip from your own mug of tea and smile, “You don't have to tell me anything,” you tell him softly, “just please don’t lie to me.”

Merlin sobered, nodding, ‘I promise, love,” he said softly, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not like you got to choose your cover story... and it’s not your fault I spent my life around military types. I know what hands that fire guns look like... and even if your family does probably have a fancy country estate and you go hunting, that doesn’t quite make sense.”

“Alright, Sherlock.”

You smile and turn away, refocusing on making dinner, satisfied now that that had been cleared up.

Merlin very kindly set the table for you while you fussed with details, adjusting timy things here and there to make sure you had everything like you wanted it before carrying dishes to the table while he poured glasses of wine. “This looks incredible,” he said, genuinely impressed. 

“I watch a lot of cooking shows when I can’t sleep,” you explain modestly. 

He chuckled and pulled out you chair before kissing your cheek affectionately, “You can cook for me anytime you like, love.”

“Try it first before you say that,” you caution.

Merlin takes his own seat once he’s sure you’re settled and tuts softly, “I watched you cook it,” he reminded, “It looked amazing an hour ago.” You glow quietly at the praise and Merlin smiles a little. You’re pretty. No, pretty is an understatement, you’re beautiful. It’s nice, knowing that you’re happy he’s happy. He’d like to skip dinner and pull you over to the couch so he can see if he can get you to glow a little brighter. But, he’s got time. Plenty of time. Still, as he tucks into his dinner, he makes a soft appreciative noise, “This is incredible,” he groans, “Amazing.” 

Your cheeks heat and you take a small nibble, “It’s alright,” you tell him, “It was a new recipe, sorry I didn’t have time to work out the kinks.”

“Oh well,” he teases, “That changes everything. I demand you do it again.” 

You smile a little and take a sip from your glass of wine as Merlin raises his in quiet toast, “Really, love,” he hums, “It’s lovely. Thank you. I’ve never really got the hang of cooking for my self.”

“I didn’t have much of a choice,” you tell him, “I really don’t like ramen.”

Merlin laughs and you decide you really do need to do this again sometime. He was sweet. And funny. And a little mysterious. He ticked a lot of your boxes. Not that you had many. Or very much experience. Still. You had always had a thing for older men. Men your own age were just fucking exhausting. Everything was a goddamn crisis. You dealt with Crises all day. Hospital visits and court cases. Kids broken. Staff about to quit. When you came home you wanted to just be. When you went out you wanted to have fun and not have to worry about soothing a fragile masculine ego. Sitting here, with Hamish, it was nice. You could just be. Chat about Wine. Talk about books. It was comfortable, and he seemed like he was enjoying dinner which was nice. You’d inherited that little tic from your mom. The compulsive need to feed people and have them be happy. It was nice, having him appreciate things. 

“It’s still early, do you want to watch a movie?” you ask, taking plates to the kitchen and scarping things into the trash. 

“I haven’t seen a movie in ages,” he said, moving to help you, feeling guilty after having let you do all the cooking. He nudged you out of the way gently and took up the washing.

“Got a favorite?” you ask, picking up a tea towel. 

“I’m fond of documentaries,” he mused. 

“Murder documentaries?” you ask.

“Yes,” he murmured, cheeks coloring.

“Perfect. I have like... all of them I can get to. Have you seen the Ted Bundy ones on Netflix?”

And the man let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.


End file.
